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... rs and serpents. Faces screamed from their surfaces. A phantom blade forged from forgotten regrets formed in the Ephemerarch’s hand—a sword of echoes.

It struck first.

Lin Mu barely dodged as the spectral blade ripped through reality itself, leaving a trail of bleeding space in its wake. The thorns chased him, piercing the sutra’s light like spears of memory.

He struck back, hands weaving sword-intent with the Calming Heart Sutra. Where his strikes landed, phantoms were r ...

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